Late Watch
by Tyanilth
Summary: Companion piece to The Hourglass.  Definitely NSFW.  Considered to fit somewhere between chapters 5 and 6.  Zevran, on night watch with Loghain, takes the newest Grey Warden to task for lack of observation...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note. This is a companion piece to The Hourglass, though it can be read as a standalone. It is decidedly NSFW and you can blame Zevran for hijacking my muse. If you are reading The Hourglass, then you can consider that this happened between chapters 5 and 6, before the group divided to take the road to Ostagar. It arises out of Muirnara and Loghain's conversation in Chapter 4, where they are discussing the ill-fitting Helm of Honnleath - the conversation is quoted below.**

_**"If the pressure is really only at the nape of your neck, then if you could bring yourself to crop that last inch of hair close, it would probably fit without...more extreme measures. You would not really look any different to how you do now, unless someone was staring at the nape of your neck, and how many people are likely to do that?"**_

_**"Zevran"**_

_**He gave an unexpected laugh at that. "And do you plan to arrange the rest of your life solely based on what that lecherous elf may be thinking or doing?"**_

_**"Damn you, Loghain Mac Tir. How can I ever get a decent argument if you keep talking sense?"**_

It had been clear all evening that Muirnara knew Zevran all too well. The elf had studied her hair with the pose of nonchalent indifference that meant that his mind was all too busy, had paid her a carefully polite compliment and then carried on his camp chores as normal. Muirnara was not fooled. After supper, she discussed the new guard roster, issued Loghain with Zevran as a partner and gave them the predawn watch. Loghain had slept poorly again, and it came as a relief when the elf's low voice called him out of the tent, and out of another nightmare. On emerging from the tent, all was quiet.

"Start with a perimeter sweep?" Loghain's question just failed to be an order, but Zevran nodded amicably, and the two of them moved into the darkness of the trees.

Zevran was the first to break the silence as they walked. "So, my friend, if I may call you such. You and our lovely Warden. Am I indeed to assume that you did not...?"

"We did not." Loghain's tone was not encouraging.

Zevran shook his head. "You Fereldens, you are all the same. You pay more attention to your Mabari hounds than to your ladies. A perfect situation falls into your lap, and you studiously ignore it. Alistair was just the same. I was advising him for weeks and he was pretending not to listen. And going a remarkable shade of red at the same time."

Loghain snorted at that. "Do not even consider comparing me to that Theirin whelp, elf."

"Oh, no comparison was implied or intended, my friend. I am merely pointing out that after the length of time that the fair Warden spent with that puppy of a Templar, that to have a man in her bed that she was not attempting to educate at the same time that she herself was learning about her own pleasures would surely be more than welcome."

Loghain raised an eyebrow at that. "I suppose I should be grateful for that, at least."

"My friend, in Antiva we have a great appreciation for good horses, as you have for your hounds. But it is understood by all those whose task it is to gentle and train young horses, that to assign a novice rider to a green-broken mount is to court disaster - it is not that it can never work, it is that the odds fall heavily in favour of the eventual outcome being at best completely unsatisfactory to both parties, and at worse, both distressing and painful for all concerned. Surely then the sensible thing is that the novice rider should be assigned a well bred mare of experience, quality and training so that his own performance may improve, and the unbroken filly should be placed in the hands of an experienced rider so that he may teach her without causing her confusion and distress by his rough and inexpert handling."

Loghain was startled into a short laugh. "I presume that you did not include this in your list of pieces of advice given to Alistair?"

Zevran's smirk was invisible in the darkness, but clear in his voice. "What would have been the point? A man who was unable to even discuss the basic mechanics without turning every shade of a sunset sky, and bolting into the nearest trees, was hardly likely to listen to any other suggestions."

Loghain shrugged and they continued to walk. "I do not entirely believe that I am having this conversation with you."

Zevran sighed. "What I am trying to say to you, my friend, is that you do not see what is in front of your nose. The Warden joins you in your tent, she sits or kneels at your feet..." the tone was enquiring.

"She sat." Loghain's voice was not encouraging.

Zevran took no notice of this. "She trusts you to take shears to her hair - my friend Loghain, for a woman that is an act of trust indeed. And do not give me any arguments about the practicalities of short hair, had the Warden not trusted you, she would have hacked her hair off herself with her dagger blade, and perhaps permitted our lovely Leliana to tidy it later. Practicalities had little to do with it. She sat at your feet wearing only her breastband, telling you in every way that she could that she placed her trust in you completely. You apparently took no notice at all of what she was trying to say. And then later, when you took the dagger blade to her neck, yes, yes, I know exactly the excuse you will give for that, about the fitting of her helm. My friend, you are blind, deaf, and stupid. Or merely an uneducated Ferelden. But I preferred to assume that Alistair was not representative of an entire country."

The rumble in Loghain's voice could be smothered amusement or anger, or even a little of both. "So what, in your professional opinion, elf, should I have done better?"

"My friend, you should have looked at what was in front of you, when you had finished with that dagger blade. A woman's nape, bare, soft and inviting. The courtesans of Antiva frequently either wear their hair upswept if long or indeed clip it short, not only to better display the jewels in their lovely ears but because they well understand that the neck is one of the greatest of the weapons they have to display. Newly shorn, the skin is most sensitive, kisses there produce a delightful frisson, running fingertips or indeed lips, tongue and teeth over the area is likely to delight the recipient of such caresses. Most of the positions for lovemaking that involve penetration from behind can be greatly enhanced by such kisses or indeed bites on the neck, carefully placed and with good judgement about timing while observing her responses. Furthermore..."

Loghain held up a hand. "Fascinating, Zevran." The tone was sardonic. "Now what were the terms of the bet?"

"Bet?" There was far too much innocence in the voice.

He snorted. "Come on, elf, you may well consider me blind, deaf, stupid or all three. But I know when baited hooks are dangled in front of me. The bet was with that dwarf, was it not? And whose money was staked on getting me to blush before the end of the conversation?"

"Got it in one." Oghren was seated by the camp fire as the circuit brought them back to the tents. "And Zevran has lost ten silvers, since I reckoned we had never seen you yet blushing, and the elf's advice was not likely to change this."

"I'll pay you tomorrow." Zevran turned back to Loghain. "Very well, my friend, I accept defeat. Perhaps though, you should think on what I have said to you? The fact that a bet was involved does not mean that the advice was poor."

Loghain shrugged. "I will take it into consideration. Should the need arise, which I do not expect it to." His voice was sardonic. "Now, unless you have further advice for me, we have over three hours of this watch to finish, and should perhaps keep walking."

"Of course." As they disappeared within the trees, Oghren could hear Zevran's voice getting fainter. "Now also in Antiva, it is not at all unusual for a woman to completely shave all bodily hair below the neck, this has the following advantages..."

Oghren smirked and muttered to himself. "Elf still reckons he'll get five silver back with a blush before they get back here again. I reckon he just doesn't know when he's beaten."


	2. Chapter 2

"So that's ten silver for not getting the blush on the first circuit."

A nod. Zevran was clearly sulking.

"And five silver for not getting the blush on the second circuit."

Nod.

"And another ten for not getting the blush by the end of the watch."

Nod.

Oghren grinned. "Oh, cheer up, elf. I'm sure you gave it your best shot."

"I tried talking about -everything-, my hairy friend. All the things we discussed, and a few that I invented on the spur of the moment. The man is simply not human. Alistair would have exploded when we got to the bit about the blindfold."

"So what did Loghain do?"

"Raised an eyebrow."

"And the bit about the candle wax?"

"Raised two eyebrows."

"Hmm." Oghren was clearly deep in thought. "How about the ice cubes?"

Zevran sighed. "Said he didn't keep a primal mage in his back pocket, and doubted Morrigan would oblige."

"Point." The dwarf thought again. "And the olive oil?"

"Said that olive trees only grow in Orlais."

"So what do they use here instead?"

"Melted butter apparently."

"Ugh." Oghren pulled a face. "Totally the wrong sodding image. Did you try telling him about the chicken feathers?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"He didn't stop laughing for five minutes."

"Tough customer." The dwarf took a pull from his bottle. "Seriously sodding tough customer. You mean you didn't even get a reaction when you got to the bit about the handcuffs?"

Zevran pulled a face. "Said Fort Drakon was full of them, but he didn't fancy a trip back to Denerim to borrow them."

"Guess that rules out the floggers too."

"Indeed."

"Well, you tried. Want some of this?" He offered the bottle.

"No, my dwarven friend. I intend to head for my own tent with what remains of my self respect. Alistair clearly is not representative of Ferelden men in general." He pulled back the tent flap. "I suppose for our lovely Warden's sake, I should be grateful that they are not all like Alistair."

As he vanished, Oghren raised his bottle and toasted the shadows.

"Loghain Mac Tir, I sodding salute you. Stone face, and stone balls to match, and you've won me twenty five silver." He thought about it for a minute. "But for the bloody Warden's sake, I hope you were taking some notes."

_**Author's note. Zevran and Oghren clearly hadn't quite finished the conversation in one chapter. Another muse hijack :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's note - Yet Another Muse Hijack. This is considered to take place between chapters 17 and 18 of The Hourglass, and is dedicated to my reviewer Castiana who was clearly disappointed that no more of the Loghain-Muirnara developing romance was seen on the way back to Redcliffe. I hope this makes clear that you've missed nothing. It is yet to come :)**_

One half day's march would see them at Redcliffe Village, and Muirnara had seriously considered keeping them moving through the night. Loghain had objected, pointing out that an arrival tired, and an attempt to fight a battle against unknown numbers in the small hours of the morning made little sense. They had compromised on six hours sleep and a predawn start. Sten and Wolf had taken the first three hour watch, Morrigan and Zevran had ended up with the second.

Zevran had proved harder to wake than usual and Wolf had eventually roused the elf with a flying leap onto the bedroll and a forcible face wash with a long wet tongue. Zevran, spluttering pushed the Mabari away. "My friend, just because I assisted you in bathing at the Keep does not mean that I wish you to reciprocate!" Wolf just wagged his stumpy tail, and Zevran muttered something under his breath and went to join Morrigan who was watching from beside the firepit with her habitual sly smile.

She appeared to have something on her mind as they walked the perimeter of the camp together. "So, Zevran. Your wonderful attempts at matchmaking at the keep, tis clear, did not have quite the effect that you anticipated?"

He shrugged. "Those two...I found them a private room, and a feather bed, and wine, and solitude, and what do they do? Sleep in each other's arms, fully clothed." He wrinkled his nose. "And how am I rewarded for my services? By being asked to bathe a Mabari hound whose odour resembled the slaughterhouse district of Antiva City, on the hottest day in summer. No, that is unfair. The Mabari smelled considerably worse than that."

"My heart truly bleeds for you." Morrigan's sarcasm dripped off her tongue. "Tell me, elf, does the Antivan language have a direct parallel for that well known Ferelden proverb "to flog a dead horse?" by any chance?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You think so? Watch the pair of them. Just watch. When he thinks he is not observed, he is her shadow, his eyes rarely leave her. He foresees a dozen things in a day that might distress her, and he moves them away from her before she ever knows that they were there. When she thinks he is not looking at her, her eyes follow him with a yearning that frankly she never showed to Alistair. And yet, in the last few days when we have been in the tunnels, they have barely spoken a word to each other, and their bedrolls are set at opposite ends of our camps. If I thought the attraction between them was purely sexual, then there are a dozen ways that this might have come to a satisfactory conclusion by now. But it is not. They love each other. And that is a whole new game that I do not touch lightly."

"Oh, is that so?" Morrigan's retort seemed almost absent minded, there was clearly something else occupying her thoughts. He glanced once at her sharply, but his voice was light as usual when he answered her.

"My dear, I was born in a whorehouse, and raised by assassins. Sex, and death, are no mysteries to me. But love...love is a book written on sheets of cobweb with a pen dipped in the heart's blood. I do not dare even open the book to read the first page."

"How poetic." Morrigan snarled. It seemed her thoughts were not improving her temper.

He raised his eyebrows. "Surely you did not have designs on the ex-Teyrn yourself? My dear Morrigan, while the man has indeed a brooding charm, surely your options are not so limited as..."

"That is quite enough!" She turned away, looking out into the darkness.

He laughed. "Or was it our lovely Warden that you were eyeing and none of us ever knew. Really, my dear Morrigan, you are indeed a dark horse. Or perhaps I should have suspected when you first refused my advances, that you were one who prefers the company of her own sex?"

She whirled round. "Just because someone has better things to do than share your bed, Zevran, does not mean that they reject the entire of your gender. Tis merely you as their representative."

"Oh? I am wounded." The elf was now openly sniggering. "So I return to my earlier suggestion that you had an eye on Loghain, and now your plans have been foiled."

Morrigan sniffed and looked away from him. "You have no idea, elf. Whatever plans I might have had, they certainly did not include unrequited love for Loghain, so put that far from your tiny mind."

"I never suggested that you loved him. Merely that your eye was on him for...other reasons?"

"You are quite impossible!" She threw her hands up and stalked away.

Zevran's laughter followed her. "My dear, if ever I saw a lady protesting too much..."

Morrigan's sniff could be clearly heard as she disappeared into the darkness. 


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's note. Takes place about two days after the events in Chapter 20 of the Hourglass, on the forced march to Denerim, late one evening. For those who just /have/ to know what actually happened, go and look for my short piece Justice and Mercy which is a missing chapter of The Hourglass, set immediately after Chapter 20 and firmly M rated. If you prefer not to know, then feel free to use your imagination. Zevran certainly did. :)**_

"I tell you, my dwarven friend, they did."

"And I still sodding say they didn't."

The argument had now been going round in circles for over an hour.

"Look at her, my friend. That woman is glowing."

Oghren burped. "And how you'd tell that under all the armour and the mud..."

Zevran sighed. "And how about that poor young servant of Bann Teagan's - Martin? He came back to the kitchens yesterday morning in a state of near collapse - Wolf apparently had been set to guard Loghain's door and went for him when he tried to take washwater to Loghain. If our grumpy ex-Teyrn had got out there a minute later, the lad would...tell me, does the term "castrato" translate?"

The dwarf took another swig from his bottle. "I still say that proves nothing. That Mabari guarded the door of the room they shared at the Peak, and you know as well as I do that nothing happened."

"Martin said that Loghain was wearing nothing but a towel when he answered the door."

"Proves nothing. The old sod probably sleeps in the altogether. Did he see Muirnara in there as well?"

"Apparently not." Zevran tossed another log onto the campfire. "But Loghain just took the water and sent Martin back to the kitchen to seek medical assistance."

"There you are then."

"I tell you, dwarf, they have. They're even sharing a tent now."

"They shared a tent on the way to Ostagar. Leliana said they did nothing in it but sleep, and she was in the tent next to them, so she should know. And given how cold it is, most people are sharing their sodding tents anyway."

"You aren't."

"Nobody would share."

"And have you seen the way she's walking? And the way she sits down...carefully?" Zevran cast a glance over to the tent in question. The tent flap was shut. Wolf was sitting in front of it, apparently at attention. Most people had taken one look at him and given the tent a wide berth. Word had got around.

Oghren shook his head. "It's cold, she's sleeping on hard ground, this is a forced march. Elf, it would be more surprising if she wasn't walking stiff and sore. Doesn't mean anything."

Zevran laughed. "My friend, she has walked like that since Redcliffe. Now, I can name you fourteen consensual activities in the bedchamber that would affect a woman's gait in that manner, and a further eight if a lesser degree of consensuality is required."

Oghren wrinkled his nose. "And I say stiff muscles, cold weather, and the armour chafing will do the same sodding thing."

Zevran most uncharacteristically stuck an arm towards Oghren's bottle, which the surprised dwarf passed to him, and took a gulp. "Well, my friend, only one way to find out. I have twenty five silvers that says they have."

Oghren reclaimed the bottle and laughed. "Do you just like losing money, elf?"

The elf pulled a face. "That is just foul, what you are drinking, my friend. But warming, I will admit. Do you accept the bet?"

"Very old Orzammar recipe, this is." Oghren shook the bottle. "And I have twenty five silvers that says not a chance. They haven't."

"Right." Zevran stood up as Loghain walked back into the camp.

Oghren's bushy eyebrows vanished into his hairline as he watched. "You're not just going to ask him..."

Zevran had already accosted Loghain. "My friend. If I may call you so. I have a question."

Loghain paused on the way back to the tent and gazed at the elf. "Yes Zevran?" He seemed amused.

Zevran shrugged. "I wish to end an old conversation with you, and settle a score with that dwarf. You and our lovely Warden. Back at Redcliffe. Am I to assume you did not...?"

There was silence. Utter silence. Even the sounds from the main camp seemed muted.

Loghain looked at Zevran for a long moment, and both elf and dwarf waited for the explosion.

"Elf, let me just say this." He had stepped over the Mabari and was unlacing the tent flap. Then before he went inside, his eyes met Zevran's and there was even a hint of laughter there. "Some of your advice...was listened to."

Then he slipped into the tent, and the tent flap fell shut behind him. Zevran and Oghren looked at each other. Without comment, Oghren reached into his belt pouch and counted out twenty five silvers.

Zevran was still staring at the closed tent. "All I can say, my friend," he murmured under his breath. "is about bloody time too."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's note - And this is the final chapter of Late Watch, it turns out Zevran's work wasn't quite done. Set immediately after Chapter 38 of The Hourglass, and answers the question "Why wasn't Alistair in that chapter at all?"**_

* * *

Night had fallen on the Warden compound. Zevran supposed there was really no very good reason for him to be keeping this vigil - there were guards on the gates that let out to the Market District, and the wedding party had seen Loghain and Muirnara in through those gates, to the accompaniment of a lot of ribald humour and shouted bits of advice that he was sure Loghain was in no need of. Then most of them had gone away to find the remainder of the wine - just because the bride and groom had made their exit was no reason to end a perfectly good celebration.

But there was something in him that felt the pair of them were owed this. With what was to come in the morning, they surely could have one night without fear, and he had set himself to keep guard over the end of the corridor that led to the Warden Commander's rooms. Anyone on Thedas with a problem now could just wait. They weren't going to get down that corridor.

But of all the possible people to deflect from heading down that corridor...well, the Crown Prince of Ferelden was the last one that Zevran had expected to see.

"Alistair, my friend, what on earth do you think you are doing?"

Alistair paused and looked at Zevran. "I was...I don't know." Although the man was carrying a wineskin he did not appear to be drunk. And Zevran had seen enough drunks in his time. Alistair just appeared very tired, and very sad.

"Sit down, my friend." The elf indicated the seat on the bench beside him.

Alistair sat, obediently, resting the wineskin between their feet.

"Now tell me - why were you going down there?"

"Because I'm a fool."

Zevran chuckled softly. "Admitting it is the first step away from foolishness and towards wisdom, my friend. But disturbing that pair on their wedding night would have been foolish indeed."

"I know. I doubt I would have got as far as the bedroom door. I don't know what I wanted to say to them. Maybe I was even going to apologise. I don't..." He looked at Zevran for the first time and there was a plea in his hazel eyes - pleading for what? "I don't know anything any more."

"And admitting that you do not know is the second step. My friend, you are becoming a wise man tonight."

That got a laugh, even if it was a rather bitter one. "I only wish it was true, Zevran." He gestured towards the corridor. "She was right, you know, when she finished things between us before the Landsmeet. It could never have worked. She's too decent, she would never have been the second woman in a token marriage. And she could never play the political games Anora plays, she looks at the world too straight. I knew that. I accepted that, even before the Landsmeet. And then, however much I was hurt, however much I felt she betrayed Duncan by sparing Loghain, I betrayed her far worse by first lashing out at her and then running away from my duty as a Warden. If we're tallying up betrayals tonight, I doubt Loghain would think I had the moral high ground on anything. And he'd be right."

Zevran smiled. "My friend, I long ago stopped believing the moral high ground exists in most questions, and I think that Loghain would agree with me. You may have run away - but you came back. You came to Denerim before we got here, and I know what you did here, Fergus Cousland talked to me a lot about the defence of the Docks when the darkspawn came. Without you, and those who fought beside you, there would be many hundreds more children without mothers, women grieving for lost children, men mourning their wives. Thousands made it onto those boats and out of the city, because of what you did. Do not tell me that counts for nothing."

"I know." He buried his face in his hands. "It wasn't enough though. None of it can ever be enough."

"For tonight, my friend, it is enough." Zevran claimed the wineskin, took a gulp from it. "Tomorrow they both face another ordeal - if the elves are greater fools than we think, she might be a widow by the end of it. Do not begrudge them their joy in each other tonight."

"I don't, Zev. Honestly, I don't." Alistair shook his head. "I was by Anora in the Chantry today, I saw how he looks at her, and how she looks at him. I went away immediately after the service, I didn't want to be the one casting a shadow on things. But Anora told me tonight about the elves. It seems so unfair, after everything we did for them. Everything she did for them. How can they possibly punish Loghain and not hurt her very deeply now? No matter what they do to him?"

"Alistair, you were brought up in the Chantry. This quote from the Chant of Light should not be new to you, my friend. "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." Have a little faith that Hahren Valendrian is not a complete fool, and let it go." He changed the subject. "And so when will your own nuptuals be?"

"Anora says in about three months time. Time to finish rebuilding, sort out any repercussions from the Landsmeet at the end of this week, arrange a coronation - apparently that normally happens before the wedding." He took back the wine and seemed about to drink from it, then paused. "Zevran, can I ask you a favour?"

The elf looked surprised. "Certainly. What is it?"

Alistair was blushing now, it made him look far more like the boy Zevran remembered. "Anora and I won't be sharing a bed till the wedding. And you know that I...well, that I didn't know a lot before Muirnara, and if I'm honest, I still don't know a lot now..."

Zevran had a smile on his face. "And?"

Alistair squared his shoulders. "Can we take the rest of this wine somewhere - and can you tell me all the things you kept trying to tell me back in the travelling days, when I invariably ran away halfway through the conversation? I may blush, but I promise you I won't run."

"Of course." Zevran came to his feet and offered Alistair a hand to help him up. "Nothing learned is ever wasted my friend. We will go to the main hall, it will be deserted now, we will raise a cup of wine to the two of them and wish them joy and long life, and I will have great pleasure in answering anything I can."

Alistair took one last look at the corridor and stood up. "Lead on."

As they disappeared, the candles on the walls flickered in a draught as a door opened and closed, and then all was quiet.


End file.
